PS Don't Write Chapter Two: Yellow Ledbetter
by virginiadontdrown
Summary: Frank tries even harder to not confront his feelings he has about Gerard


_P.S., DON'T WRITE_

_Chapter Two: Yellow Ledbetter_

My hands tightly gripped the wheel of my beat-up mustang as I drove over to the Way's. My shaky hands fidgeted with the stereo. I finally settled on Yellow Ledbetter by Pearl Jam on some classic rock station. I rolled down my window all the way and stuck my arm out, tapping the side of my car. The sad tune of the song made my heart plunge down to my heels. Why was I acting like this? Almost…giddy. I didn't know what this feeling was, or where it was coming from. Or why I was feeling it. Maybe I'm just over exhausted. Too much caffeine maybe. How many Red Bulls did I drink last night? I hadn't slept at all. I almost could feel the dark shadows under my eyes. Maybe it was just the slight streak of eyeliner that hadn't come off in the shower last night. I pulled myself out of my reverie and rolled my window back up, pulling into the driveway, right next to Gerard's blue pickup. Donna must've left for work. I grabbed my keys out of the ignition, cutting Yellow Ledbetter short. I opened the door and walked up the steps. It took me a couple seconds to realize I was speed walking, and humming the Yellow Ledbetter. I slowed my pace, stopped humming, and knocked on the door. Well, banged on it actually. I could've been standing there for an hour. I finally heard steps coming, and my heart plunged down into my Converse again. The door slid open, revealing a stubborn looking, dark and stringy haired young boy. He slightly grunted at me and then sighed a little too loudly. I took a deep breath and smirked at him in return.

"Aye, Gee," I said coolly, walking into his home. The plain white and yellow home, with pictures and pastel colors all over didn't quite match Gerard. Or even Mikey for that matter. "Hey Frank. I'm pissed, you know." My smirk faded as I walked down into his basement.

"Because of me? Listen Gerard, I-" He cut me off. "No, not because of you. I already told you. But I think my mom threw out two of my fucking X-men comics, that's why. I fucking left them _right there!_" He pointed at the cushion of the couch I was about to sit on, next to Ray.

Ray was an average looking 19-year-old, with an Iron Maiden shirt, some plain Converse, and a comical attitude that shone right through- except for that massive 'fro of his. But he wasn't so average on the inside. He was an insanely talented guitarist, with a true ear for music. It blew me away how much he knew and cared about music, never forgetting his roots or appreciation for it. He really was a mature artist, not some kid that liked to experiment and fuck around with it, like me. I was more into the dirty rock 'n roll. He smiled warmly at me, and turned his attention back to the television, sitting in the slumped position he always seemed to be in. I nodded back at him, and turned back to Gerard.

"I bet she didn't. Did you even ask Donna?" I said, trying to sound concerned. But we've been in this situation many times with Gerard and his comic books. "Yeah, Dude. I was all, MOM YOU THREW OUT MY FUCKING X-MEN. And she was all NO I DIDN'T SWEETIE, YOU MISPLACED THEM. And now I'm pissed cause I fucking know I didn't. Who even says misplaced? What the fuck does that even mean? Unless Mikey took them…fuck! Ray! What time did I tell you Mike gets home?" he asked, running over to Ray, who was about two feet away. I chuckled at how much a 19-year-old boy could babble on and on about any subject- especially comics. It's not even normal for me, at 17, to babble like a girl and read comics.

"Uh, I don't know, I think you told me at 1:30." His motto-toned, uncaring voice with his stone-hard expression staring at the television made me chuckle again. "Dude, I swear to fuckin' God, if we don't find these, no one's goin' anywhere. I'll be right back, I gotta go call that son of a bitch brother of mine. MIKEY, YOU'RE DEAD." Gerard called over his shoulder to an invisible Mikey. Poor Mikey. I shook my head and sat in the same slumped position.

After a few seconds, Ray turned to me. "Hey, Frank. So uh, Gerard tells me he wants you to meet someone? I don't know the whole story, but I guess some chick Donna works with has this daughter. And Gerard said she's coming to the movies with us because Donna said that, like, she has no friends or something. I don't know." Ray cackled deeply at his own joke. Or at my confused expression, I couldn't tell. "But anyway, Gee says she's cute for you, he met her the other day when he drove Donna to work when her car was in the shop. Her name's like, Leslie? No. Lisa, maybe. Lacey! Yeah it's Lacey. But yeah, you'll have to ask him about her. I'm just giving you the heads up of a chick coming, since Gerard's a little preoccupied at the moment…Did he order the pizza yet?" I stared at Ray, then down at my hands sitting in my lap. He was hard to follow sometimes. "Uh, okay. Thanks?" Ray could babble on and on a lot, too. It was obvious how we were all friends, I wasn't really the quiet type either.

But I had fallen into a silence as I could hear Gerard's muffled yells from the upstairs kitchen, as his colorful vocabulary was accusing Mikey over the phone. Part of me didn't want to meet this chick. Part of me didn't want Gerard to set me up. All of me just wanted Gerard for myself. I shook off my twisted thoughts and yelled upstairs, trying to cut off my train of thought. "GERARD, ORDER THE FUCKIN' PIZZA." Then I turned my attention back to the television. No more twisted thoughts, or confusion, or distant reveries. Just another weekend over at the Way's. I sat slumped next to Ray, humming Yellow Ledbetter. Just another weekend.


End file.
